Roommaid

by Sariah Wilson

  Not that I’d been thinking about it or anything. Not that I’d been harboring some secret hopes that maybe last night had meant something, that he might have changed his mind.

  While I sat around feeling sorry for myself and my poor, misguided dreams, Tyler came back in the room. He headed straight for the kitchen and set a box down on the counter. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “I already ate, thank you.” I mean, I could have eaten again. But he seemed exhausted, most likely jet-lagged, and I was feeling guilty. Not to mention that the idea of sitting down with him at dinner and chatting about our days felt a little too cozy. Intimate.

  “That’s good, because, to be honest, I am feeling worn out and not really up to cooking. I think I’ll grab a frozen dinner.” He took one out of the freezer, tore off the outer packaging, and then slid it into the microwave.

  “You never did tell me what the tissue paper is for,” he reminded me as his dinner heated up.

  “My school has a fundraiser coming up. A winter festival. And they put me in charge of these decorations and told me I had to make them by hand. It’s something they do to new teachers. Because we’re on probation they give us the grunt work. Joke’s on them, though. I’m terrible at it.”

  The microwave beeped and he took his dinner out, tore off the plastic, and turned the contents onto a plate. It looked like some kind of chicken-and-rice recipe, and it smelled delicious. He grabbed the box he’d brought in with him and came into the living room.

  Then, to my surprise, he sat next to me on the couch. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table, being sure not to disturb my stacks of paper. So much for not wanting to share a cozy moment with him.

  “Here,” he said, handing me the box. “I brought you something.”

  “You brought me something?” I repeated as my heart slammed into my chest, hard.

  His eyes sparkled at me with delight. “Open it.”

  Gulping, I nodded. There were Asian letter characters on the outside, and I opened the box carefully, painfully aware of his gaze on me.

  Inside, there was a small plush Hello Kitty holding an apple in one hand and a book in the other. She was a teacher.

  He’d remembered the store in Singapore. I couldn’t believe it. My pulse pounded so hard I was in actual danger of passing out.

  “Thank you. This was so thoughtful.” I didn’t know what else to say. If I could say it. If I was allowed to tell him how much this meant to me. That I wanted to cry from the sweetness of it.

  That I would keep this for the rest of my life, and that it was the best present I had ever received.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, oblivious to my emotional turmoil. “Have you done anything fun over the past couple of days?”

  I blinked a few times and cleared my throat. I needed to be normal. “Other than being terrorized in my own home last night and destroying tissue paper?” I teased, and was rewarded with his smile. “The most fun thing I’ve done lately is . . . my friend Delia lent me her label maker at school and it’s kind of altered my entire life. Like, if she wanted to start a cult worshipping it, it’s possible I would join.” Since I had already filled out my paperwork to join the cult of Tyler, what was one more? “What about you?”

  “Just work and more work for me.” He gestured toward the TV. “What are you watching?”

  “Oh, this is a show called House Hunters. I’ve seen so many episodes of this that I’m pretty sure I could pass a test to become a licensed real estate agent. It’s about couples looking for a home and they walk through three different houses and then pick one. Usually you can tell in advance which one they’re going to choose. It’s always the empty one because they’ve already bought it but just haven’t moved in yet.”

  “We should watch it.”

  “You want to watch TV with me?” I asked, a little alarmed. What if he hated my shows? Then I wouldn’t be able to maintain my crush. Then again, this could be a good thing. Friends weren’t really your friends until you’d forced them to watch your favorite TV programs.

  And that was even more true for boyfriends.

  “I like television. I used to watch it a lot when I was younger. But I went to college on scholarship and spent all my time working or studying. Then I got this job and most of my time is dedicated to working. I never really take the time to relax.” He put his emptied plate onto the table, near his feet. Again I had that feeling that there was something more than what he was saying, a whole subtext I wasn’t getting, but I didn’t want to push or pry because I had the sense he didn’t like it. That while he was very good with people and getting them to talk about themselves, Tyler wasn’t the kind of guy who would tell you things about himself until he trusted you.

  I hoped someday he would trust me that way.

  “My parents forbid me from watching it and you know what happens when people say you can’t have something and it makes you want it more?” All too late I realized that this also applied to him and me—I suspected that a tiny portion of my attraction was due to the fact that he was completely off limits. “Anyway, it kind of turned me into an addict. So allow me to be your guru to effective TV relaxation. And if we’re going to start you off with reality television, we’re going to do the granddaddy of them all. The Bachelor. Your life will never be the same again.”

  “I’ve heard of that one but I’ve never seen an episode.”

  I grabbed the remote and began clicking on the controls. “We’re going to rectify that right now.”

  Tyler picked up one of the packages of tissue paper. “Hey, do you want some help?”

  I nearly wept with gratitude. “Yes! I would love some! Bless you!” I had the show queued up, but I gave him a quick run-through of how to fold and then fluff out the pom. He seemed to grasp it pretty quickly and then I explained the premise of the show we were about to watch.

  It was easier to focus on the show instead of on the way he was making me feel. Bringing me presents, being interested in my shows. It almost seemed like another one of my daydreams. Only better. “Okay, so there’s a single guy—”

  “That’s the bachelor?”

  “Yes. And there’s, like, thirty women who are competing to end up with him. Each week he eliminates some of them until we get to the finale and then he proposes!”

  “How long does this show film for?”

  I shrugged. “A few weeks, I think.”

  “And they get engaged in the end? That’s what they win?” He looked dubious.

  “What did you think they’d win?”

  “I don’t know. All of America’s sympathies when this goes south?” He laughed as I pushed him on the shoulder. “It sounds to me like the real winners will be the divorce attorneys in two years.”

  “Okay, Mr. Cynic. Don’t you believe in love?” I’d meant to say it in a teasing manner, but suddenly his answer seemed very, very important to me.

  Instead of joking around, like I’d half expected him to, he seemed to be taking my question seriously. “I’d like to think that true love is real. I’ve never been in love, so I can’t personally testify to its existence. What about you?”

  “I thought I was in love once.” But I’d discovered that it was hard to be in a loving relationship when only one of the people felt that way. “I’m not sure that I really have been, either.”

  When he asked, “Having problems with your boyfriend?” I realized my mistake. My living here was predicated on the belief that Brad and I were together and everything was fine between us.

  “It’s not really worth discussing.” Not only because I didn’t like thinking about Brad when the vastly superior Tyler was sitting next to me, but because I didn’t want to give Tyler any reason to throw me out. I hated lying to him, especially when he was such an honest person. “Let’s watch the show instead.”

  “Done,” he said, holding up the perfectly constructed pom he’d just finished.

  “What . . . how . . . why did you . . .” I couldn’t form
a sentence. On his first try he’d made a better pom than the example Mrs. Adams had given me, and in a fraction of the time it took me to put one together. Of course he’d do this just as well as he did everything else. “How are you so good at that? You should have seen my first one. Here! I took pictures to send to my friends.”

  I handed him my phone and he laughed as he handed it back to me. “If this investing-money career doesn’t work out for me it’s a relief to know that I have pom making to fall back on. Plus, you’re forgetting that I had a really good teacher.” His praise sent my heart fluttering faster than a hummingbird’s wings as he grabbed some more tissue and floral wire and started on another one.

  I started up the show and despite his initial teasing, I could tell he was getting caught up in it. We were making comments back and forth about the contestants and the ridiculous things they were doing to catch the bachelor’s attention.

  “Is that a pool of Jell-O being wheeled out?” he asked.

  It was. And the next woman out of the limo introduced herself as a women’s empowerment / life coach and then scored a point for women’s empowerment by wrestling in the Jell-O pool with another contestant.

  Tyler shook his head. “All this for the chance that they might get to go on a date with this bland, mediocre guy who won’t remember either one of their names? Why are we watching this again?”

  I shushed him and said, “Because it’s about true love winning out and . . . I have to watch it.”

  “Why?”

  “To find out what happens next!”

  At that he laughed again, thoroughly amused by my response. When the show ended, he got up to get himself a drink from the kitchen. “Do you want anything?” he asked.

  “I’m fine—” I stopped speaking when he went for the fridge. Oh no, I’d totally forgotten about the . . .

  “What’s this?” he asked, holding up a large plastic bowl.

  Oksana again. I didn’t really want to hear from him how fantastic and gorgeous she was and what a good cook and a good everything else. I was having fun with him watching TV. I didn’t want the specter of her to ruin that.

  “That’s . . .” My brain ran through a million different answers but I sighed as I settled for honesty. Maybe it would be a good thing to hear about how much he liked her. It would remind me where I stood with him. “That’s your borscht.”

  He looked alarmed. “My what?”

  “It’s the soup that Oksana came by and made for you.”

  I got myself all ready to view the heart-wrenching list of emotions that I was sure were going to show up on his face at the thought that his beloved girlfriend had made him food, but he just looked bewildered. “Oksana was here?”

  Why did he seem so confused? “I thought you knew. Isn’t she your girlfriend?”

  “No!” He put the container away in the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of water and came back to sit by me on the couch. Was it my imagination or was he sitting marginally closer than before? “We went on, like, two dates months ago and then she basically dumped me.”

  “Who would do that?” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but realized that I did when he laughed. It wasn’t a joke, though. I couldn’t imagine someone telling Tyler, Thanks, but no thanks.

  “Oksana did. Pretty convincingly.”

  “And what, she changed her mind?” That I couldn’t blame her for. Maybe she woke up one morning and realized how stupid she had been.

  “My guess is things didn’t work out with the Saudi Arabian billionaire she left me for.”

  “Wow. That’s . . . shocking.” If only because I’d been rich and didn’t have a Tyler in my life, and I much preferred now, being broke and having Tyler. As a friend and roommate, but still.

  “I thought so at the time. I don’t intend to be anybody’s backup plan.”

  “I know the feeling,” I confessed. And without thinking, without weighing the ramifications when something similar had happened just a few minutes ago, I said, “My . . . friend, Brad? He’s broken up with me more than once to date somebody else.” Someone prettier, thinner, or from a socially superior family. It made me ill to think of all the times I’d been told to take him back and had done it.

  “I’m sorry.” Tyler reached over briefly to rest his hand on top of mine and it was like time stood absolutely still and nothing existed beyond the feel of his skin on mine. It was electric.

  And I keenly felt the loss of him when he moved his hand away.

  “Thanks. I was actually worried about bringing her up because I didn’t know what her status with you was. Or whether we had that kind of . . . relationship.”

  He grinned. “I definitely think we’ve reached the a-stranger’s-in-our-apartment-and-I’m-letting-you-know stage of our friendship. Right?”

  I nodded. Yep. That was me. His friend. His nonappealing buddy who did hilarious things like letting his former hookup hang out and make him borscht.

  As one does.

  Now that I knew the truth, I wanted him to know everything, too. “Does that also mean that we have the kind of friendship where I tell you I saw her in a restaurant yesterday making out with some older man?”

  “It doesn’t surprise me.”

  That made one of us. “I assumed she was your girlfriend. It surprised the crap out of me.”

  After he finished laughing, he said, “To be honest, we never should have dated in the first place. I went out with her because she seemed like the kind of girl I should be dating. The sort of woman the other guys at the office are dating. We never had anything in common, and I definitely didn’t see it going anywhere. Like, I couldn’t imagine her and me sitting here on the couch, watching television and talking, like you and I are doing. If she hadn’t ended things, I would have.”

  While that was truly excellent news, one thing didn’t make sense to me still, and instead of guessing I decided to just ask. “Then how did she know about me? And when you’d be back from your trips?”

  “She’s been texting me lately.”

  That wasn’t an explanation. “So?”

  “So, wouldn’t it be mean for me not to answer? I told her about you because she texted me the day you moved in and asked what I was up to. And when she asked about my future plans, I told her about my trips.”

  “You know you don’t have to reply to a text if you don’t want to, don’t you?”

  “It just seems a little rude.”

  “It’s not rude!” I protested. “I do it all the time with . . . people that I don’t want to talk to. You can be rude to people who aren’t respecting your boundaries.” Was he seriously the one hot guy in America who didn’t understand the concept of ghosting someone? “You can even block her number if she’s annoying you, Grandpa. It’s called technology.”

  “To be fair, I hadn’t really set up any boundaries with her. But I’ll call her and thank her for the soup and tell her that I’m not interested in rekindling anything. And I’ll call downstairs and tell them not to let her up anymore without letting us know first.”

  “Good plan. Especially since I was going to resort to leaving a wooden stake in one of your nightstand drawers. Just in case.”

  That got him laughing again. “Now that we have that straightened out and no one’s going to be in danger of getting puncture holes in their neck, you should start the next episode.”

  “You still want to watch it?”

  He settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. Like you said, now I have to know what happens next.”

  I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face. I got the remote and hit play. There was nothing going on with Oksana and I wasn’t going to randomly find her in my apartment, smoking and saying mean things. No more James Bond villain for me to contend with.

  And Tyler was watching The Bachelor with me.

  This shouldn’t have felt like a win.

  So, then, why did it?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Tyler left another Post-it note on my door the fol
lowing morning. He’d gone to bed early due to his exhaustion and had already left the apartment when I got up to get ready for work. Pigeon had spent the night in his room and I’d found myself missing her.

  It was funny how quickly your life could change, how something that seemed so foreign at first quickly became your new normal.

  Anyway, his note read:

  Remember, it’s okay not to let people you don’t know into the apartment.

  I will admit that I tucked that note into my pocket and carried it around with me the rest of the day, smiling at it each time I saw it. Every time that Denny acted out in class, I would take out Tyler’s note for the little pick-me-up it provided.

  When I got home that afternoon, I decided to do two things before I started on my pom making; I wanted to research ways to help Denny, and I needed to sit down and figure out what was happening to all my money because I never seemed to have any. I set up at the dining room table with my laptop, a notebook, and a pen.

  When it came to my expenses, there was the obvious: food, gas, insurance, replacing the things of Tyler’s that I’d ruined. But given that I wasn’t paying rent, I should have had lots of extra money.

  Pigeon ran past me and headed for the foyer, where she sat, her tail wagging. I wondered what she was doing and then there was Tyler. Home early again.

  When the calendar said he had a flight for New York in about an hour.

  “Aren’t you going out of town?” I asked.

  “Hello to you, too,” he said. “I was supposed to go, but my boss canceled my next two trips and is sending someone else in my stead.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  He ruffled Pigeon’s fur and she stared at him adoringly. I hoped I wasn’t looking at him the same way. His tie was loosened, the top button undone. I was chewing on my pen and thinking how I’d like to undo the rest of the buttons, especially now that I knew what he was hiding under that shirt when I realized that he’d said something and I hadn’t heard him.

  “What?”

  “I said, it actually is good and you’re the reason why.”

  “Me?” What had I done?